


wake me

by princesszaf



Category: GOT7
Genre: (Mostly) Platonic, Developing Relationship, Fluff and Humor, M/M, suuuper brief mentions of markbum!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-09-12 21:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,548
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9092059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/princesszaf/pseuds/princesszaf
Summary: “How drunk are you?” Jackson’s not sure if the boy’s question comes after minutes or hours. He still laughs when it does, a delirious sort of amusement.“You’re the one crying,” and there’s no malice in Jackson’s words when he replies.“Mean.” The affront in his tone isn’t genuine. Jackson laughs, loud and booming, carrying over asphalt and seeping into the ground.





	

**Author's Note:**

> idk the world needs more jinson :))))))

It’s Friday night when Jackson finds Jinyoung.

He stumbles out of the club, choked laughter spilling from his lips, sweat clinging to his brow. He plays Mark’s video on repeat from stretches of the ocean away, early Saturday afternoon in Korea. It’s a video with Mark’s muffled chortles, his sleeping boyfriend in frame and Mark brandishes a pen a few seconds into it. He carefully scribbles a moustache onto Jaebum’s oblivious face, camera shaking while he does and Jaebum only wakes up a few seconds later, when Mark’s done and his elated chortles echo through their room, bouncing off the walls.

Jackson ignores the twinge of pain. His eyes fall elsewhere, from his flashing phone screen to the boy crouching by the sidewalk. The thrum of dance music from the club fades into the background - he can hear sobs. Awful, choked sobs. 

He feels a tug - whether it’s alcohol or destiny, he goes. He stumbles on his way there but manages to plop clumsily by the crying boy, soft eyes wide with curiosity and concern. The boy looks at him, lips swollen and puffy, tears streaking round cheeks. It’s nice, Jackson notes, to see his expression morph from anguish to…something else, at least, even if it’s just confusion. 

Jackson only offers him a small smile. There’s no inquisition, no judgment. He just sits there next to a boy he doesn’t know and the boy sits next to him, sans complaint. 

“How drunk are you?” Jackson’s not sure if the boy’s question comes after minutes or hours. He still laughs when it does, a delirious sort of amusement. 

“You’re the one crying,” and there’s no malice in Jackson’s words when he replies. He feels the warm buzz of alcohol, a pleasant wave crashing over his body, sinking into his pores. There’s the warmth of Jackson’s happiness from the other side of the world, warmth of his fingers tightening around his degree from a few hours earlier. There’s warmth of sitting next to a boy who lets him with no argument, of knowing the boy isn’t crying anymore. 

“Mean.” The affront in his tone isn’t genuine. Jackson laughs, loud and booming, carrying over asphalt and seeping into the ground. 

“You’re not crying anymore, though.” Jackson hums and the boy just looks at him, eyes still teary and lower lip still wobbling, a ghost from before. He manages a smile in return though - it quivers and Jackson smiles back, wider than he has all night. 

“Did someone break your heart?” Jackson continues either way, distractedly bobbing his head to the music. He doesn’t do this often - find a sad boy on a lonely Friday night, pry into his life with zero inhibitions. It’s a curious thing, inebriation, and the boy seems drunk enough himself to reply. 

Not drunk enough to spare Jackson a bewildered look, though. “Intuitive.” Jackson just laughs again, endearingly wolfish. He misses the way the boy’s lips twitch with a smile, eyes finding a flashing star in the murky city skies. 

“A plane,” the boy giggles, as if reading his thoughts. Jackson just pokes his shoulder with a childish scowl. “And…yeah. Piece of shit. Word of advice - don’t fly thousands of kilometres for anyone. Nobody’s worth the plane ticket.” 

The words are nonchalant but Jackson doesn’t miss the strained wobbles. His eyes are watery again and there’s acute desire to make it stop - take his grief away, replace it with everything good Jackson can give him. 

_Drunk_ , Jackson reminds himself. _You’re really fucking drunk._

“I wouldn’t be able to afford one for the next five years anyway,” Jackson snorts but there’s still softness in his smile, his concerned gaze. Jackson pats his thigh reassuringly, awkward reinforcement of whatever sidewalk friendship they’ve built so far. “I’m this deep in college debt.” He raises his arm above their head, waving his hand from its wrist. Pinches his nose and mimes struggling for air, collapsing to the dirty pavement a few painful seconds later. 

He regrets it the moment his back hits the ground. The boy just laughs though, unrestrained and high pitched, and Jackson can’t stop grinning now either. 

“Are you hungry?” Jackson asks from the ground, trying to find his star again. His new friend doesn’t reply but Jackson isn’t fussed - he doesn’t feel fabric shift away from him and there’s no scuffle of shoes. 

Instead, the boy falls right next to him. Their bodies are sewn from shoulder to fingers, his thumb a faint weight against Jackson’s palm. 

“Kinda.” He turns to look at Jackson, dark hair falling into darker eyes. Jackson’s only slightly distracted by the slope of his jaw, plump lips, the colour in his cheeks. “Do I need to cry to get cute boys to buy dinner for me, now?” 

“The secrets of our generation,” Jackson replies loftily, heaving a sigh. “We’re revolutionising seduction one step at a time. Good job.” 

The boy just laughs and laughs until his hand covers his abdomen, until the streets are filled with the sweetness of his glee. Jackson’s ears burn pink and he can’t tear his gaze from him, just a little hypnotised. 

“You’re dumb,” he sighs eventually, turning to look at Jackson. “You’re really dumb.” 

“ _You’re_ rude,” and God, Jackson can’t stop grinning. “You’ve hardly asked for my name and you’re already name calling.” 

“ _You’ve_ hardly asked for _my_ name and you’re already asking me out,” he just smiles back. 

“I asked you if you were hungry,” Jackson points out, propping himself on an elbow to get a closer look at him. “Because I’m hungry.” 

“Jinyoung,” the boys breathes out, reaching out to play with Jackson’s coat, rubbing fabric between his forefinger and thumb. 

“Is that an insult?” Jackson gasps, mocking insult. 

“It’s my _name_ ,” and Jinyoung pinches his wrist instead, gasping right back. “Uncultured swine.” 

“Uncultured Jackson Wang,” Jackson pulls his wrist away only to push Jinyoung’s hair away from his eyes, finally. Jinyoung doesn’t protest to it, allowing innocent affection. 

“Let’s find ourselves some food then,” but Jinyoung doesn’t make any move to get up. He just lies there, stretching his legs out. He locks them at his ankles and Jackson tucks his hair behind his ear, letting his fingers linger there for a moment before pulling away. 

“The chances of us romancing in someone’s dried up puke are grossly high, so yeah. I agree.” Jackson states matter of factly, chortles ecstatically when Jinyoung’s eyes grow saucer wide. He pushes himself off the ground, mortified, knocking his shoulder against Jackson’s in the process. Jackson feigns hurt, groaning melodramatically. Jinyoung just kicks his shin as retribution and offers Jackson a hand, pulling the boy to his feet. 

All Jackson can do is laugh until his stomach hurts. Jinyoung follows suit eventually, until they’re two silly boys laughing in an alleyway about something Jackson can barely recall. Jinyoung just tugs on his wrist when they’re both done, sides aching. 

“Let’s go,” Jinyoung tugs at his wrist again, insistent. “I know of this really good shawarma place not too far away.” 

“Mmkay,” Jackson lets Jinyoung pull him closer, until they’re walking away from the club, side by side. Their shoulders brush again and neither pulls away. Street lights fall onto Jinyoung’s face now and there’s still tear tracks staining his cheeks, still redness in his puffy eyes. 

Jinyoung turns to him too and smiles, glowing radiant under cheap street light bulbs too, somehow. “Hey, Wang.” He nudges Jackson’s shoulder, rounding a corner. 

“Hm?” Jackson nudges his shoulder back, lets a passersby go by, pressing closer to Jinyoung. 

“Thanks,” and Jackson looks now, he _really_ does. There’s weight in Jinyoung’s gratitude, solemness in his gaze when he looks at Jackson too. His lips twitch in a shaky smile and he laughs, loud and bitter, a cathartic ball of frustration and rage in it. “ _God_ , thank you so fucking much, Jackson.” 

Jackson can’t help it. He squeezes Jinyoung’s hand reassuringly in his, nodding fiercely. “Don’t be silly,” he scoffs. He feels Jinyoung’s pain reverberate within his chest and Jackson’s done nothing, really, except offer companionship. “It’s nothing you need to thank me for.” 

“I’ll pay for your shawarma, then.” Jinyoung rolls his eyes, fond. “As my token of gratitude.” 

“You better,” Jackson replies haughtily, “And ask for my number too, while at it.” 

“Fine, _fine_ ,” Jinyoung feigns irritation, tugging Jackson closer to let another stranger pass by. “But you’ll have to just ask for my number back. It’s only fair.” 

“I _suppose_ I could…” Jackson sighs, running a hand through his dishevelled mop of hair. It’s nothing much but it has Jinyoung giggle again, bashful and sweet. 

“You’re really silly, you know.” Jackson doesn’t miss the arm snaking around his waist, holding him close. 

“And _you’re_ terribly mean, Jinyoung, but we’ve already established that. Gosh.” And Jackson allows himself to reach up, pinch Jinyoung’s cheek tenderly. He wipes away the remnants of Jinyoung’s tears while at it, brushing his knuckle against Jinyoung’s cheek. 

“You’re welcome too,” he hums a few beats later, watches the way Jinyoung’s lips part for a response. Jackson shakes his head with a soft chuckle, shaking his head in refusal. “But no more of that, alright? Let’s go.” 

“Let’s go,” Jinyoung smiles right back, letting out a sigh. A knowing nod. “Let’s go, Jackson.”

**Author's Note:**

> tumblr - yugbamrises <333 come talk to me!!


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